


The Killing Hand

by Elevensins



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12809784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elevensins/pseuds/Elevensins
Summary: Fordola looked back up again, scowling deeply.  “I’m not talking about the bloody Echo.  Or the Resonant or any of that.  I mean you’re like him, a killer.  I know your kind.  Soulless.  You don’t give a shite about this liberation.  I see the way you fake your smiles and nod your empty head to people who say they’re your friends.  But unlike them, I’ve seen you on the battlefield, too.  You’re not in it for freedom or liberty or whatever they’re selling. You’re in it for the bloodshed.  For the kill.  So what makes you bloody better than Zenos himself?  Because you fight for them instead?”





	The Killing Hand

She heard nothing. Not the sound of footfalls on the stone flooring outside her cell. The swish of cloth. Not even the din of distant conversation. Her captors had been discussing the liberation of Ala Mhigo loudly, and now they were suddenly silent. Yet, she knew she was not alone. She couldn’t say how she was aware of this. She just knew.

“You can come out, I know you’re there.”

The woman emerged from the shadows, like a body bobbing up from the depths of dark water. Clad in steel mesh and black leather, daggers glinting at her hips. She stared wordlessly at Fordola, eyes fierce and blue ringed with gold and practically glowing in the dim lighting. 

“I’ve read about your kind, you know,” Fordola said idly. 

The woman tilted her head slightly, reaching up to the mask that covered the lower half of her face to pull it off. A dark visage, skin a dusky dark hue. The scales on her forehead and cheeks glinted slightly. 

“Oh yeah,” Fordola sniffed, contempt clearly conveyed, “After our first encounter, Zenos told me to go to the library. Not for him, for me. He wanted me to read up about the Au Ra. The Xaela. Nomadic tribes who live in the Steppes, fighting each other for scraps. And they call Ala Mhigans savage. You weren’t even worth the Empire’s efforts.”

She didn’t expect the woman to react. Those blue and gold eyes continued to stare at her, gaze unreadable. “You’re a Dotharl aren’t you? I found the blurb about your tribe. Worse than savage, downright stupid the lot of you. Throwing yourselves at your enemies. Dying for the sake of it. I’m surprised any of your sort are even alive still.”

Did the woman’s eyes narrow? It was hard for Fordola to tell. Yes, yes they did. She felt a swell of rancorous joy in her breast, her lips curving up in a smile. “But you, well, you rose above all of that, didn’t you. Zenos was watching you. The whole time you and your lot were running around like rats, he was directing you.”

“And yet,” the woman finally said, “He is dead. And I am not.”

Fordola felt her smile melt away. “Oh, so you do have a voice.” She fell silent, staring down at the ground. Always a battle, even if it were no more than words. “You’re not much different from him, you know.”

“I was given the Echo. He stole what was not rightfully his to have. The same for you, I might add.”

Fordola looked back up again, scowling deeply. “I’m not talking about the bloody Echo. Or the Resonant or any of that. I mean you’re like him, a killer. I know your kind. Soulless. You don’t give a shite about this liberation. I see the way you fake your smiles and nod your empty head to people who say they’re your friends. But unlike them, I’ve seen you on the battlefield, too. You’re not in it for freedom or liberty or whatever they’re selling. You’re in it for the bloodshed. For the kill. So what makes you bloody better than Zenos himself? Because you fight for them instead?”

The woman, the Dotharl, looked thoughtful for a moment. But there were no denials, no platitudes as Fordola expected. 

“For all your study, for all the Empire’s research into my people, you are so ignorant it’s almost funny,” she said with a cold chuckle. “It is in battle that my soul burns brightest. What does it matter what kind of battle it is, or who I fight for? Do you actually think I am unaware of the similarities between Zenos and myself? You don’t even know the kinship he and I have. You weren’t there. You… aren’t worthy of the fellowship we belong to.”

Fordola’s nostrils flared and she leapt to her feet. The chains around her wrists rattled. “Zenos made me one of his Resonants. He found me more than worthy.”

“No, Fordola. He found you an interesting pet to play with,” the woman countered. “You are weak. You have always known this. People like Zenos play on grand stages. You are relegated to footnotes, if you are mentioned at all.”

Fordola sank back down onto the bench in her cell. “Why are you even here. Does this make you feel good, to taunt me?”

Surprisingly, the woman’s face shifted. Pity. She was looking at the prisoner with actual pity. It made Fordola’s stomach churn. 

“No. I came because despite your opinions of me, I wanted to tell you that Zenos, in the end, was weaker than even you. He took his own life. Slit his throat and bled all over the flowers in the menagerie. That is his end in the history books. They will say he fought using stolen power. And died a coward.”

Fordola wasn’t sure how to feel about that, grimacing again and looking down at her hands. She tightened them, balling them into fists. 

“You have a chance to be more than a footnote, Fordola,” the woman continued. “Zenos treated you like a dog on a leash. You’re free now, at least free of him. You have a choice at this point. Continue to worship him like the pup nipping at the heels of his memory. Or, become your own person, free of his influence. Free to undo some of the damage done in his name.”

Fordola wanted to yell at her to leave. But she could only stare at her hands, the ground, her feet. She didn’t even see the shadows swallow the other woman. She could only sense her slipping away, leaving her alone in her cell again.

Alone in the silence, to think.


End file.
